


If the Body Were Not the Soul

by OddlyExquisite



Series: The Still Center [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, pre-TPM - Fandom
Genre: Beginnings, F/M, Gen, HereThereBeMonsters, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:32:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5795380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OddlyExquisite/pseuds/OddlyExquisite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Qui-Gon comforts Obi-Wan after the death of a friend. Obi-Wan seeks understanding, and finds something unexpected instead. A meditation on possibilities...</p><p>First in a Series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If the Body Were Not the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This is my first ever "Star Wars" fic after a childhood of obsession with the films...I have admittedly little knowledge about the Expanded Universe, so fair warning!
> 
> 2) This is terrifically un-beta'd: All of the mistakes are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> 3) Fic title comes from Walt Whitman's "I Sing the Body Electric":  
> Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?  
> And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead?  
> And if the body does not do fully as much as the soul?  
> And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?

* * *

 

**Part 1**

 

When he was very young, still a youngling in the creche, he had wanted nothing more than to become a Jedi Knight. After dark, when he was too restless to sleep, he would pull the blankets over his head and pad about the room barefoot; a mimicry of the loose-limbed stride of a Jedi Master. He would tiptoe about in his floral patterned cloak, watching his fellow crechelings as they dreamt in bundles, snuggled close together despite the warmth of the sleep room. The sound of their soft breath filled the air like a living thing.

Inevitably, one of the creche-Masters would find him weaving in between the beds of his age mates, wearing the strange solemnity of a child who knows his fate.

"What are you doing out of bed, little one?" They would ask.  
  
He would shrug, merely looking at them with large, bright eyes.

He remembered being ushered back to bed with gentle words, knowing that the creche-Master on duty would stay by his side until sleep claimed him. He remembered falling asleep to backrubs...faint lullabies strung with whisper-thin Force strands that were meant to soothe, not persuade...the warmth and comfort in the laps of indulgent Masters. When the crechelings traveled the temple, every arm reached for the honor of receiving a hug, a kiss, every hand offered fond touches, the straightening of tunics and the mussing of hair before the young ones toddled off. The youngest Jedi-in-potential were treasured; symbols of a peaceful future, reminders that the hardest missions were worth it if the next generation never had to raise a weapon, a reminder of origins, the permission they needed to weep, for even Jedi had a right to bleed.

Every week, sometimes every few days, the creche would enjoy new teachers and visitors. He remembered learning rudimentary lightsaber skills from senior padawans, sessions that often ended in laughter and roughhousing rather than any real combat skill. He vaguely remembered a senator's wife bringing cookies for the crechelings, and Master Yoda's guided meditation on the virtue of temperance after half of the creche ended up in the healing ward with stomach aches. He remembered Council member Mace Windu supervising a trip to Coruscant's Nature Museum. (The irony of a Nature Museum in the midst of skyscrapers and plastisteel never escaped him. When he was older, he would wonder if it weren't out of the hope that this hard-metal-soft-smoke planet would someday remember its jungle origins, back when everything was vibrant and green...)

Obi-Wan remembered his childhood monsters, and the giant of a man who cleansed him of his fear.

  
  
*********

 

It was night and he couldn't stop crying. He was old enough to sleep in his own bed now, old enough that quiet sobs could shake his small body without fear of waking anyone. The door to the sleep room opened, and his terror was instantly soothed by a calming Force-presence. He could only see the silhouette of a tall man who was not his creche-Master, backlit by the light in the hallway. Obi-Wan rolled over and closed his eyes in a vain attempt to pretend that he was sleeping. Nevertheless, the man made his way unerringly to his bedside.

"Were you crying, little one?" A large hand caressed his sweaty hair and Obi-Wan was flooded with reassurance.

"N-no." He whispered, shivering. Unexpectedly, he felt himself being plucked from the bed and settled into the man's lap. Obi-Wan buried his face in the man's tunic, shamelessly asking for comfort. Strong arms obliged him, holding him close against a broad chest. The man smelled fresh and clean, like lemongrass. Long, still-damp hair brushed the side of Obi-Wan's face.

"Are...am I still gonna be a J-Jedi?" Obi-Wan asked bravely, when it became clear that the Master was content to hold him in silence. Would he still be accepted as a Jedi despite his fear? Jedi weren't supposed to be afraid, after all.

"You will become a Jedi, young one, if that is your wish." The deep, measured voice answered.

"Do Jedi g-get scared too?"

Obi-Wan felt the Master's solemn nod. "Every single one I know."

Little Obi-Wan peered up at the man's face, but could not make out any details in the darkness. Tentatively, he reached his stubby fingers upwards until they touched a wiry beard. Making a decision to trust this tall Master with his secret, Obi-Wan cupped the man's cheek and scrambled upwards to whisper in his ear.

"There are _monsters_ under my bed." He swallowed and continued his confession, "I think they sended me bad dreams."

"Monsters, hmm?" To Obi-Wan's delight, the man did not sound disgusted at all, merely thoughtful. "I think I can take care of that."

The Master gently detached a clinging Obi-Wan and laid him into bed. "Wait here a moment." True to his word, the Jedi Master left and returned mere seconds later, carrying a spray bottle filled with liquid.

"Here we are," He said, spraying the space beneath Obi-Wan's bed, "This will keep the monsters at bay, little one. I use it myself sometimes."

Obi-Wan gaped, privately awed that any monster would dare trifle with a _Master_. Carefully spraying beneath his pillow to ward off bad dreams, he placed the bottle on the floor within reach.

"Thank you, Master Sir." He whispered, wriggling down into his blankets.

"Will you be able to sleep now?"

Obi-Wan nodded and yawned.

"What is your name, young one?"

"Obiwankenobi." He slurred into the pillow, eyes too heavy to open again.

There came a soft chuckle. "Sleep well then, Obi-Wan."

Years later, Obi-Wan would learn that the worst monsters didn't sleep under beds; they slept inside your head.

 

*********

 

_...All was still and silent. No light filtered into the great hall of the Temple on Coruscant. There was only the smell of metal on flesh, unlit 'sabers and still bodies...from a distance they could have been children...upon closer examination, he found that some of them were..._

He is sweating. It is hard not to sweat in this scorching heat.

_\- hard to breathe with the knowledge of failure...and beside him, Yoda, wise and small and oh so sad...everything was burning..._

"Obi-Wan."

_\- the Order? Weak temple lights against bloodstained flagstone...trampled gardens, blaster shadows on the wall, the ashes of enemies, of friends, of-_

Obi-Wan slowly surfaces out of his meditation, returning his awareness to the meditation gardens. He has secluded himself in a small corner, expecting no one. Even so, it is no surprise that Qui-Gon found him where no one else would think to look.

He blinks against the afternoon sun and looks up at the tall, muscular figure in front of him.

"Master."

Something warm and wet slides down his face, unbidden. Reaching out his tongue, Obi-Wan is surprised at the taste of salt. A leftover spike of prescience reasserts itself and he-

_is breathing in the hot, dry air and he turns away from the body of..._

\- closes his eyes against it. It is easier to pretend things aren't real when you cannot see them. Cannot see the molasses-slow affection in his Master's deep blue eyes, the understanding that says, in no uncertain terms, that his rough edges are accepted and cherished and forgiven. He does not want that understanding now. He does not want that forgiveness. He wants to be alone. He wants to scream and tear at his clothing and rage out here in the gardens until he is burned into nothingness by the blistering afternoon sun. How long does one have to sit in this heat before being scalded? 

The sound of rustling clothing, the creak of leather boots and the folding of limbs tells Obi-Wan that his Master has settled in the dirt beside him. He recognizes the familiar scent of lemongrass and spice, the body scent of his Master who has not bathed for a longer time than usual. It is not unpleasant; this musky scent of sweat and green things and tea.

Qui-Gon seems to have fallen into one of his habitual silences, but Obi-Wan finds that he cannot quiet the madness in him that demands speech. Demands anything but silence.

"Padawan Selti is...she's dead. Mission went bad." He does not look at Qui-Gon, as if speaking to the open air might make the words easier. It does not. He opens his eyes and finds that he can no longer see through the tears.

"I know." A cool, dry hand finds its way to the back of Obi-Wan's neck and rests there.

They stay there for a while, long enough for Obi-Wan to embrace the splintered-not-quite-centered feeling inside and ask, "What happens when we pass into the Force, Master?"

The hand at the back of his neck slides down his spine, tracing each vertebrae as if every single one was made of something precious. Obi-Wan shivers at the careless touch and looks at his Master.

"That is something I do not know, my Padawan." Qui-Gon answers thoughtfully, as he does most things, "We become one with it, but whether our souls are diffused within it or whether we retain something of our identity, I cannot say." The man looks at him with a small smile, "No one has ever come back to tell me."

Obi-Wan feels equal parts anger at the feeble attempt at humor, and regret, knowing that Qui-Gon Jinn carries more grief on his shoulders than any Jedi he has ever known. Obi-Wan quietly releases his anger to the Force.

When Qui-Gon had first taken him to be his Padawan learner, he had been nothing like the warm, caring Master who had comforted a frightened crecheling all those years ago. He had been strict but encouraging, attentive, as brilliant a Master as one might expect from the legendary rebel Qui-Gon Jinn...but he always held himself apart. Kept himself distant in a way that Obi-Wan hadn't understood for the longest time. Not until he'd found a dark lock of hair and an old holopic of a boy with pale skin and cold eyes stowed away in the depths of his closet. At first, Obi-Wan thought that his Master had simply forgotten about the old things. Now, he knew better. Qui-Gon had hidden those things from himself.

But that was the thing about Qui-Gon Jinn. The thing that made him infinitely more Jedi than any other Master, in Obi-Wan's opinion. Despite the weighty memories of dead friends and past lovers, he made room in his heart for a young Initiate who had nearly given up on his dream of becoming a Knight. His Master had wrestled with memories of betrayal and loss and overwhelming guilt, all for him. It had been a slow, at times painful, process for the both of them...but that was the thing about Qui-Gon Jinn. He kept giving.

"I suppose she exists in everything, then." Obi-Wan says, almost to himself. "In everything the Force touches. The entire universe."

For some reason, the thought hurts him. Was she truly part of the entire universe? The smallest Yarum seed, the largest Kindalo? If he spent the rest of his life searching, could he gather enough of her essence to console himself that his dear friend, his first lover, had been real? Tangible? Enough to ensure that he would not forget the curl of her hair or the sound of her laugh?

As if he can sense Obi-Wan's thoughts despite the firm shields his Padawan has erected, Qui-Gon laces his fingers together.

"The universe, Obi-Wan, is exactly the size that your soul can encompass. Some beings live in extremely small worlds, while others live in worlds of infinite possibility."

Luminous, Force-bright navy eyes meet bloodshot blue-green.

"If you live in worlds of infinite possibility," The Jedi Master continues, "Surely your friend won't seem so far away at all."

They sit in silence for a long time after that. Legs crossed, knees brushing against each other. Obi-Wan closes his eyes again, shifts against the warm earth and decides that Jedi Masters have an amazing talent for ambiguity. Still, the quivering-animal-earthquake part of him has subsided into stillness. He reaches for his center, anticipating the usual

_-sharp Force-flow clarity, knowing-of-himself certainty-_

and finds Qui-Gon's fingers drifting back up his spine. Obi-Wan surreptitiously arches into their touch, reveling in the feeling. He idly wonders after the worth of Padawan bones, and whether his Master's fingers had ever touched Xanantos like he was worth his weight in gold.

"Master...?" He begins to ask, but it becomes clear that Qui-Gon does not hear him.

He looks at the limber-muscle-Force-strong man beside him. Qui-Gon is staring into the gardens as if the key to every question were hidden among the leaves. Obi-Wan is not surprised to find that, if he squints, he can almost see the sharp-pain-breath-stealing monster of his childhood hidden amidst the grey hairs at his Master's temple.

And suddenly, Obi-Wan understands.

Slowly, very slowly, he lessens his shields and allows his Master to breathe.

*****

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Qui-Gon's quote: “The universe, Obi-Wan, is exactly the size that your soul can encompass. Some beings live in extremely small worlds, while others live in worlds of infinite possibility.” Is a slightly edited version of a line from Kevin Hearne's "Hounded".


End file.
